Carly
by powmia94
Summary: Carly just found out that she's been adopted and has only one living relative left-a brother named Christian. She packs up her things and leave London in favor of finding her last remaining chance at family. Not a good summary
1. Chapter 1

"Excuse me," the blonde flight attendant placed her hand on my shoulder, "Miss we've landed."

I blinked rapidly sitting up in my seat. She was right, the plane was now empty with the exception of myself and the flight attendants picking up the leftover trash. I picked up my bag from the floor and pulled on my coat wrapping my scarf around my neck tighter.

"Thanks," I say to the blonde as she hands me my suitcase that was in the over compartment.

I exit the plane and make my way out of the terminal and towards the immigration stop. Pulling my passport out of my bag I look around the line that I'm in and notice that I don't recognize anything about this place. Illinois would always be a mystery to me—what ever happened here was obviously not something I should welcome with open arms.

I handed the officer my passport and she looked over it, "What's you business here?" she asked.

"Family," I responded.

She nodded, "Can you state you full name please and date of birth?"

"Carlyle Matisse Frasier May 14th 1999." I replied adjusting my bag on my shoulder.

"And birthplace?" she continued.

I cleared my throat, "Chicago, Illinois, but hometown is London."

She smiled and nodded, "Well Welcome to Chicago Carlyle, have a nice stay." She stamped the booklet and I smiled back.

I took the escalator down towards the baggage claim and waited by the carousel to bring my bag around. The time on my phone read 8:47 PM and I felt like I was about to drop on the floor and sleep for 12 hours.

When I saw my suitcase I quickly picked it up and wheeled it with me to the exit in search of a taxi or town car to take me to my hotel.

There was a black town car waiting on the side of the curb and I waved at the driver.

"Excuse me, are you available?" I asked.

The man nodded and jumped out of the car to get my suitcases from me. He placed them into the trunk and opened my door for me so I could slide in.

"Where to Miss?" he asked.

I told him the hotel and he nodded turning to the road and we left O'Hare behind us. Thirty minutes later he pulled up to the curb of the extravagant hotel and the doorman came to my door.

"Hello Miss, Welcome," he was an older man with a black uniform and white gloves. I smiled stepping out of the car and took my bag along as I made my way into the lobby.

He handed me the key and I made my way to the elevator with the bellhop trailing behind me. The elevator attendant pressed "P" and we were off to the top floor.

We entered the penthouse and I handed the bellhop a tip as he left the room shutting the door quietly behind him.

 _This whole place just for myself. Super._

I hopped into the shower and scrubbed every inch of that flight off of my skin and then soaked in a hot bath just for good measure. After I was relaxed and sure the nastiness of the flight was gone I stepped and out put on pajamas making a quick call to the kitchen and ordering a good old American burger and fries.

Sitting at the dining room table where they left the food, I reached into my tote bag and pulled out a manila folder. In between bites of my burger I looked over the documents my parent's lawyer had given me after their funeral in London.

It all started when my parents had come to visit me in boarding school. I was raised in London but when I was 14 they decided it was time I do the proper Upper Class English girl thing and send me off to the prestigious McTavish School for Girls. It had been a bitter fight between us and after I had worked my way to the headmistress's last nerve I found a look for football—or soccer, whatever.

They had come to visit me and watch my tournament when they were in a car accident. A drunk driver hit them while they were crossing a bridge; he didn't stop and they went into the freezing waters.

A week later their lawyer gave me a folder of documents: bank account numbers, deeds to their houses and estates, and most importantly my birth certificate. I had never seen my real birth certificate up until a week ago—I didn't know another version of the document existed. There it was in black and white, the proof that I was in fact not the biological daughter of James and Camilla Frasier but I was their adoptive daughter.

NAME: Carlyle Matisse Smith

DATE: May 14th 1999

BIRTHPLACE: Chicago, Illinois

MOTHER: Jane Elizabeth Conner

FATHER: Mark Jonathan Smith

The whole reason for my coming to Chicago was to find out who my parents really were. I had already checked in about my mother with a PI from here who found out that she was in fact a prostitute who died twelve years later from complications due to AIDS—heroin was her choice, preferably speedballs.

I was due to meet the PI in person tomorrow to follow up on what he could find out about my father. From the sounds of it I didn't think he knew about me and I hoped that he was a paying customer.

After polishing off the entire burger and fries I laid in bed watching TV until I fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning I woke up at 8:45 and began to get ready for the day. I was to meet the PI at 11:00 at a coffee shop 6 blocks away from my hotel and I was nervous. Slipping on black leather leggings, a large cream sweater, and pulling my chocolate hair into a high ponytail I grabbed my bag and the folder and headed out the door.

It was 10:30 but I wanted to take my time getting there and have a cup before he arrived as well. Stepping into the shop I went to the counter and ordered a hazelnut coffee and a blueberry scone then found a seat near the window.

About twenty minutes later a man about thirty-five with dark hair and brown eyes walked up to me holding a legal binder in one hand and a coffee in the other.

"Carlyle?" he asked.

I nodded, "Call me Carly," I stuck out my hand and he shook it.

"Nice to meet you, Carly. I am Mitchell Fox nice to finally meet you." He sat down across from me and untied the binder.

"Likewise."

He reached into the binder and pulled out a document along with photographs and spread them out of the table.

"I looked into your father liked you asked. This is Mark Smith. He's originally from Detroit, Michigan and moved around throughout the years. Unfortunately he died while incarcerated for theft and murder in Alabama in 2006."

I sunk into my chair looking at photographs; there were pictures of him from his childhood all the way up until his mug shot in 2004 in Alabama. He was tall according to the back wall, probably 6 foot 3, dark hair, and blue eyes. He looked kind in his younger photos but the gaze turned hard after his entered into his forties.

"So this is everything?" I asked motioning to the photos and death certificate.

He shook his head, "Actually I found something else that might prove to be fruitful." He reached into the binder pulling out another set of photos and a birth certificate; "Your father had another child, a son, with a woman in Detroit before leaving."

I looked down at the photographs and saw someone who looked familiar. He had dark hair with grey eyes and was around his thirties.

"His name is Christian Grey," Mitchell continued, "He's a CEO of his own _very_ prosperous company and lives in Seattle. He is married and has a son, Theodore, and daughter, Phoebe."

I sat there looking at his birth certificate—June 18th 1983—he was thirty now.

"He was adopted out too?" I asked.

Mitchell gave a curt nod, "Yes, at 4 when his mother died. His adoptive mother is a pediatrician and father is a lawyer."

"Does he know about me?"

"Not from what I gather," he finished his coffee and sat back.

I smiled at him, "Well thank you for this, please bill me at my lawyer and I'll take care of it."

With that and a few polite niceties, he left and I shuffled all the papers into the binder and tied it back up. Packing my things back up I left the coffee shop and headed towards some shops to find some things to take with me to Seattle. I wasn't going to stop looking for my family just because my biological and adoptive parents were dead. I haven't decided yet if I would reach out to Christian or maybe just watch from afar and see how he really way—after all, how many people find out they have a brother when they're 16?

Two days of twittiling my thumbs later I boarded a flight to Sea-Tac airport off to find one Christian Grey of Seattle Washington. I decided I would just watch him and see who he was first and then see if I wanted to really meet him or just be a passing stranger on the street.


	2. Chapter 2

Seattle's air was thick with rain and wind. Thankfully years in the English countryside had prepared me for this day and for that I was grateful for the stupid boarding school.

I walked down the streets leaving the lavish hotel behind me and made my way towards his building. Fifteen minutes later I came to a stop in front of a towering skyscraper with his last name on it—this must be it.

Not wanting to introduce myself just yet, I found a small park across the street and decided to take a seat at one of the tables next to a small coffee truck. In that spot for the next six hours I drank my body weight in skinny hazelnut coffees and kept a weather eye for Christian leaving.

At 5:45 a black Audi pulled up to the curb and a man with a severe buzz cut exited and opened the door for the person I've been waiting for: Christian. I sat up straighter and zeroed in on his frame as he nodded to the man and answered a phone call as he slid into the luxury car.

I made this routine my habit; for the next 4 days I sat at the same table drinking hazelnut coffees and watching for Christian. I learned the man at the truck's name was Harry and he gave me free coffee sometimes due to my unavoidable stalking demeanor.

It was Wednesday and I sat perched waiting at 5:45 to see the man with the buzz cut come retrieve Christian but apparently, he had other plans.

"Excuse me miss," I turned around to see Mr. Buzzcut himself.

I blanched and lowered my sunglasses that were on the bridge of my nose, "Yes?"

"You need to come with me," He said. Another man behind him in a black suit stepped beside him and come around me.

I shook my head, "Sorry boys, but I'm not going anywhere. It's a free country I can drink coffee in a park if I want to."

He looked over at the man beside me and made a hand gesture over his shoulder and turned around. I was confused until I felt the other man grab me around my thighs and pull me over his shoulder.

" _What in the hell do you think you're doing_?!" I screamed at him.

He adjusted me over his shoulder, "Just following orders ma'am."

"This has to be illegal," I beat on his back and watched as Buzzcut carried my bag and whoever was holding me trailed behind following him into the building.

We must have looked so odd, but it didn't matter. I continued to berate the man holding me and grumbled as we enter the building and went over to the elevator. He pressed a button and we were off.

"Seriously this has to be a violation of rights," I said to Buzzcut.

He ignored me and sighed, "So is spying," he said cooley.

I scrunched up my face and finally stopped beating the man who would probably have a purple backside in a couple of hours. The elevator dinged and we all exited to a floor with white marble floors and floor to ceiling windows to show off the surrounding Seattle scenery.

Buzzcut led us into an office and made another signal then pointed to a leather chair opposite of the desk.

The man dropped me into the chair then stood behind me as Buzzcut took a seat at the desk in front of me.

"What is your name?" he asked me.

I rolled my eyes, "What's yours?"

He sighed, "Call me Taylor."

"Call me Carly." I stated.

"Fine then Carly, why have you been watching the Grey building for the past four days?" he asked crossing his arms.

"I may be new to the America, but in the UK we don't drag people into strange office buildings because they frequent a park."

Taylor sighed and rolled his eyes, "Why have you been watching Mr. Grey."

"Why do you think I'm watching him?" I cut back.

The man who carried me handing me photographs; me in the park sipping coffee all four days I had been there.

"Well in that case, I should be dragging you into strange offices and interrogating you too." I said.

He smirked, "Tell me what your business is with Mr. Grey."

"Look in my bag," I said pointing to my leather satchel Taylor had taken.

Opening it, he pulled out the binder and began to look over the papers that were inside of it.

His eyes widened a bit, "What are these?"

"For a man who I assume has some power I would expect you know what basic birth documents look like," I said sarcastically.

He squints his eyes at me, "Why would a girl with a British accent, upper class Londoner I'm guessing from the sound of it, have a birth certificate that says you're from Chicago?"

"Flip to the next page," was my only reply.

He did so and read what was my adoption paperwork. All the details were perfectly laid out since my lawyer did so for me the first time I met with him.

"You were adopted by the Frasier family in nineteen-ninety-nine. What does this have to do with Mr. Grey? I don't have all day to play a scavenger hunt Ms. Frasier."

I crossed my legs and pulled my long blonde hair into a bun on top of my head, "Then stop asking me if I'm a stalker and keep reading, Taylor."

I watched as his face registered understanding of what the contents of the documents that were spread before him. His eyes widened and his face ashen until he realized his poker face was no longer in place and I was reading it like a book.

"They're authentic if that's what you're getting at," I said before he could argue that I falsified documents.

He sat up from his desk and called upon the man who carried me, "Stay with her," he gruffed out and I pouted in my chair as my house arrest—or rather office arrest—continued.

Taylor was gone for at least fifteen minutes taking the paperwork with him and leaving my care up to my personal human transportation system.

The door opened and Taylor came in followed by Christian Grey himself. I sat up straighter and stared into the grey eyes that were boring back into mine. We didn't look identical, but we didn't look unrelated—we were obviously siblings if you saw us side by side.

"Where did you get this information?" he bit out.

I flinched back at his tone, "My-my lawyer. My parents had left the documentation for me to receive upon their death."

"Where did the information on me come from? I highly doubt your parents would keep that data lying around."

I sat back in my chair and looked back at him, "After I found out about my patronage, I decided to look deeper into it. My mother died after I was born—she was a heroin addict and O.D. on a speedball. When that line of the family tree was at a loss I asked a PI to investigate on my father. Seems that that is where our paths cross."

We stared at each other—a face off of some sort. His jaw tensed and his body went rigid as he looked down at the photographs of what was our father.

"Taylor would you two excuse us?" he said his eyes not moving from mine.

He nodded curtly and he and the other man walked out of the door and silently shut it behind him. Christian leaned against the desk and gripped the sides.

"I'm not very sure how to handle this so excuse me for being a bit curt." He leaned back and tried to relax but it only looked forced, "I don't really know where to go from here, and I quite frankly don't know why you wanted to meet me."

"You don't know why I wanted to meet you?" I asked hurt. Maybe Christian didn't want to know me; the reminder that his blood family really came from prostitutes and murderers, not pediatricians and stellar prosecutors.

"Is it money you're after?" he asked.

I shook my head, "Maybe I should be going. Obviously this was a mistake and I have school in London waiting for me." I rose from my seat and reached over the desk to grab my bag back.

He sat starting at me confused but not stopping, "I wish I could say it was pleasure to meet you, but I sincerely regret to say it hasn't. I hope your family here sees a different side of you, that I can be sincere about."

I pushed the door open and almost ran into Taylor and his goon as I made my exit. He tried to hand me back the binder but I waved him off and ran to the elevator stepping into one that was about to close.

 _Okay, so my brother's an asshole._


	3. Chapter 3

I don't really remember leaving the elevator or the building for that matter, all I know was that I ended up back at my hotel and threw my bag against the wall.

" _Fuck!_ " I screamed. I was pissed off and enraged; I didn't know how much I cared about Christian's reaction until I realized how upset I was.

The only thing that proved to calm me down in the past was a good run. With my iPod blaring music, my clothes changed to leggings and a t-shirt, and a pair of running shoes laced, I took off towards the streets.

I ran up and down the pavement of downtown Seattle and didn't stop for I don't know how long. I kept pace with the beats thumping through my headphones and willed myself not to thing about Christian, my parents, or even myself in general; I settled on thinking of school. I had put a pause on my academic career to chase down my family but that seems now to be a stupid idea.

When my lungs and legs finally protested one last time I entered the lobby of my hotel and made a beeline for a hot shower.

 _Knock, knock, knock._

I had been watching TV and eating grilled chicken when I heard the knock at my hotel door.

Sitting up I wrapped my jacket tighter around me and went to open the solid dark wood door.

"Okay so I'm an ass." Christian said standing at the door.

I took a step back in shock and stared at him. He had his hands in he suite pants and a sad look on his face.

"It's nine o'clock at night, shouldn't you be with your family?" I responded.

He gave me a slight smile, "Technically I am."

I grimaced, "How convenient."

"Can I please come in, Carlyle?" He asked.

"It's Carly."

I held the door open wider and made a face as he passed by me towards the seating area where I had been eating dinner.

"Alright what do you want?" I asked annoyed, "Money?"

He hung his head and knotted his fingers looking at his feet, "I'm really sorry about that. I should have never jumped to conclusions like that."

I sat where I had been and looked at him, "Is that because you had enough time to have your goons look into me and realize I don't need your money?"

He shrugged, "I'll admit to my goons as you put looking into you, but regardless of your current financial standings, it was low of me to assume that."

"Yes it was." I bit back.

I reached for my glass of white wine and took a large gulp before turning back to him, "So why are you here?"

"You're sixteen, Carly." He stated.

I nodded, "Yes, I'm well aware of that."

He shook his head, "You can't drink you're too young."

"In case my accent wasn't enough of a hint for you, I was raised in the UK where the drinking age starts when you can see over the bar at the pub."

He shook his head silently then let it go. I watching him as he tried to make himself comfortable in the seat but seemed to be off; he had no home court advantage.

"I wanted to talk," he stated unfolding his arms.

"So talk."

He opened and closed his moth several times trying to find the correct words to speak.

"Tell me about yourself," he said.

I stared at him dumbfounded, "That's the best you could come up with?"

"Just do it," he spoke.

I shrugged, "Okay, um, I was apparently born in Chicago. I was adopted by Claire and James Frasier and grew up in London in a lovely home with three dogs."

He cut me off, "Carly I know your financial standings, a lovely home?"

I shot him a glare, "Okay I grew up in a lovely estate with three dogs and horses. I loved it there but when I was fourteen, they decided that I should do like all proper English girls do and go to boarding school. I kicked and screamed and fought it every step of the way until the headmistress put her foot down."

He laughed, "Do you still go there?"

"Technically yes, I'm enrolled but I've taken a break from school."

He nodded, "Why'd you take a break?"

"To um," I cleared my throat, "find my family, er, my real biological family but it seams the family tree has dwindled down to a branch."

"You and me," he said more to himself I suspected.

I nodded, "Yup, you and me."

He straightened and adjusted his collar, "So aside from school what do you do?"

"I play foot-soccer mostly. It's the only thing that saved me from getting kicked out of McTavish."

He smiled, "My wife's father is an avid soccer fan; never seen the man miss a game for his favorite team."

"Well mine's Manchester but my family always disagreed on who to root for."

We sat in silence, not all together awkward, and waited for the next question.

"Alright Christian, what do you need?"

He sighed, "I have apologized for my actions, but I feel it's still not settled. How long are you in town for?"

I shrugged, "Indefinably I guess."

"Well I would like for you to come over for dinner while you're here stateside."

I eyed him skeptically, "You're family already know about me?"

He shook his head; "I haven't really talked to Ana or anyone today, it's not exactly a easy subject to bring up over the phone."

"Well I guess dinner wouldn't be so bad," I sighed.

He smiled back, "Great, I'll have Taylor pick you up say tomorrow evening around five-thirty?"

I nodded my head standing as he rose from his seat and hung his jacket over his arm, "Sounds great."

I was never a hugging kind of person to begin with so when we made it to the door I realized that it was the first trait Christian and I must share aside from our physical features: neither of us leaned in for a hug.

He turned and stepped into the elevator and I waved shutting the door behind me and headed off to change and sleep.

CPOV:

I arrived home to find Ana reading in the library and watched her face as she stared fascinated at the story that was unfolding before her.

"Hey," I said coming up to her and sitting on the other side of the couch.

She looked up and smiled shifting from her spot on the couch and into my lap leaning her head against me.

"Where have you been? Teddy and Phoebe missed you." She sighed, "and I missed you too."

I gave her a light kiss and looked at her, "I was visiting someone."

She sat back and looked at me, "The last time I heard that Elena was that someone."

I shook my head, "I've told you before Elena is gone and out of the picture. It was actually someone I recently met."

"Oh?" She asked surprised.

"Well Ana, I was meeting with my sister." I said.

She looked confused, "I thought Mia was still in France with Ethan?"

I nodded, "Oh she is. I didn't know this because I never knew who my father was but she found me."

I watched as her face processed the information, "You have a sister? A biological sister?"

"She's coming to dinner tomorrow night."


	4. Chapter 4

What are you supposed to wear to a dinner where you're meeting your brother's family who just found out that you existed? I was leaning towards a bag with two slits cut out for the eyes—my friend Jules had other ideas.

"What about hat black dress you have with the open back?" she asked through the speaker of my computer.

I had mounted the laptop on my bed facing my hotel closet that was housing all my clothes that had been sent over from London. Thank God for FaceTime and a nocturnal friend.

Standing in a white fluffy robe and my hair in a topknot drying, I stared towards the screen, "This isn't a hot date, Jules. I can't wear a little black dress and show up to dinner like I'm about to go hit the clubs after!"

She scratched her forehead and wrapped her comforter tighter around herself, "Don't you have something simple? I mean what did you wear when you were stalking Christian?"

"I was not stalking!" I bit back, "I was merely observing another person's behavior before I dropped a nuclear bomb on them."

She sighed, "Right so what did you wear when you were _stalking_ him?" she repeated.

"I don't remember… Jeans?" I suggested. It was true, after Christian left my hotel room I downed the last two bottles of wine then ordered for a few shots of tequila: The Dinner of Champions in my opinion.

I couldn't wear jeans to the dinner; far too casual for such an occasion but a LBD was far too formal as well. Jules chatted away—mostly to herself—about different ways to wear a pair of jeans and therefore I tuned her out.

Scouring through my closet I looked at the clock and noticed that it was almost 6:30 and we wee meeting for dinner at 7:30—shit. From the hotel it would take at least thirty minutes to get downtown to the restaurant let alone get ready, wait for the car, and be presentable…So this is what my dad meant about me needing to learn time management.

"Jules I gotta go," I said and slammed the laptop shut before she could protest.

I took the towel off my head and shook out my hair quickly trying to dry the bird's nest that I was currently sporting on my head. Once done, I swept on some mascara, patted my face with some light powder and made sure my thick brows were somewhat tamed.

I decided to just chance it and slipped on a pair of black cigarette leg pants, a dark navy blazer buttoned at the bottom, and a pair of black pointed slippers.

My hair was at peak volume—which for the average girl would have been lovely, but I have curls for days—and I pulled it to the side and tried to tame it as I pressed the button for the elevator.

The black car pulled up to the curb almost at the same time as I stepped out of the hotel and onto the sidewalk.

"Good evening, Miss," The driver said as the doorman shut the black door behind me.

I smiled back, "You must be Mr. Taylor." I noted.

He nodded his head, "I Must be," he smiled, "Please just call me Taylor."

Pulling away from the hotel, Taylor played soft classical music that I noted was from a symphony that my mother loved dearly—if I had believed in signs, I would have taken this as one.

We rode for while until the car slowed down to a stop and he put it in park. I took a deep breath as he came around and opened up the car door for me. As I stepped out he took in my look of pure fear and smiled.

"No need to be nervous Miss, it's merely just curiosity at this point," He said.

I shot back a tight smile and nodded, "That's what I'm afraid of."

"You'll be fine," he said and went back to the car leaving me on the sidewalk outside of the restaurant. I looked up at the large black awning and took a deep breath.

Walking into the restaurant the maître d' looked up from his stand and smiled, "Welcome, may I help you?" he asked.

I nodded looking up from my phone and placing it into my clutch, "Hi, yes, I'm here for Grey."

He straightened up hearing my words and nodded, "Of course, your party has already arrived."

Stepping out from behind his podium he lead the way for me and I followed behind him trying to focus on not falling. _Don't fuck this up, Frasier._

Walking farther into the restaurant the lights were dim and the walls were dark almost black. Everything was candlelight aside from the large and opulent chandeliers that were hanging from the ceiling. Mostly modern the chandeliers were a nice offset to the sharp edges.

"In here, Miss."

He opened a large set of wooden doors and inside was a large room with fabric draped from the walls and another large chandelier. A long dark table was set with white plates and glasses already filled with water and red wine. I stepped out from behind the skinny man and noticed that the table was full of waiting bodies sitting around with one seat open.

Christian stood up from his seat and cleared his throat, "Everyone, this is Carly, my sister."


End file.
